. " Ideas are never born; they are suggested; they are planted seeds. Shari and Cathy make all the trimmings, the casseroles, vegetables, and potatoes. There MULSACK and SWIFTNECK, both prigs from their birth, OLD MOB and TOM COX took their last draught on earth: There RANDAL, and SHORTER, and WHITNEY pulled up, And jolly JACK JOYCE drank his finishing cup! For a can of ale calms, A highwayman's qualms, And makes him sing blithely his dolorous psalms And nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! "Singing's dry work," observed the stranger, pausing to take a pull at the bottle. They took her fingerprints sitting at the gray metal desk of Officer Nolte, the virile young buck who had brought her in. He had informed her that to leave him would be a choice to live a life of meager subsistence.
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